


Dance of the Black Heron

by ellorgast



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, I see all your Dancer Ferdinand fics but what if the dancer were just very goth?, White Heron Cup (Fire Emblem), expect black eagles friendship content, in which I gently bully hubert von vestra for multiple chapters, it's pre-time skip and half the house is still made of adolescent angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28840329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellorgast/pseuds/ellorgast
Summary: The Black Eagles need a candidate for the White Heron Cup, and Byleth consults Hubert for his opinion on his classmates.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

It was not unusual to be invited to Professor Byleth's room for tea. Indeed, all of the Black Eagles had grown accustomed to their little one-on-one sessions, including their professor's seemingly uncanny ability to predict each student's preferred tea blend. 

Hubert was not altogether surprised, therefore, to receive such an invitation himself. Though no sooner had he sat down at the table occupying what precious little empty space could be found in Byleth's dorm room, did he learn that this was not a mere social occasion. 

He sat up a bit straighter in his chair, feeling in no small part flattered to have the question posed to him. "Our professor, seeking my counsel? What a rare moment this is indeed."

Byleth regarded Hubert with that same blank stare that they always had. It was a look that he had once erroneously interpreted to mean there was little thought behind those dark eyes. But he had heard too many classroom lectures, fought beneath them in too many battles, to make such a mistake anymore. When Professor Byleth gazed at him like this, it meant they were evaluating something about Hubert. "Well," Byleth stated flatly, "I must consider our overall class makeup when I make this decision. It's not just about who would be best suited as a Dancer. It's about who I can afford to remove from another role."

Hubert felt a swell of approval for his professor for considering such matters, and quickly took a sip of cinnamon tea to cover the smile tugging at his lips. They could not possibly know yet that the Black Eagles may soon need to use their talents for a fight much larger than these skirmishes and minor missions the church sent them on. Hubert himself had been trying to subtly nudge his classmates in certain directions, cultivating their strengths and trying to compensate for their weaknesses. If they were to serve Lady Edelgard in the coming war, they would need to not only improve their own skills, but learn to operate well as a united force. 

He lowered his cup. "Very astute. I will admit that the same thought has occurred to me. Many of my classmates appear to view this White Heron Cup as a frivolous activity, but not only would obtaining a Dancer among our numbers give us an advantage over other classes, but it would require a shuffle in our own ranks. Though, despite that, it seems to me that you already have a clear contender."

Byleth reached for a biscuit and idly broke it up on their plate. They had thoughtfully provided a tray of savory offerings, little salted biscuits topped with cheese and spices rather than the usual pile of sweets, which Hubert found surprisingly touching. Most people tried to foist sweets upon him regardless of his protests, but his teacher was oddly observant about such little details without having ever to ask. "Dorothea is the obvious choice, of course." They looked at Hubert expectantly, as if this was a classroom exercise and he was expected to demonstrate his understanding of the current chapter of his textbook. 

Fortunately, such hypotheticals were exactly within Hubert's area of interest, and he did not squirm at being put on the spot. "Without question." He considered the songstress. "She has the prior training as well as the eagerness to perform before an audience. In the competition, there is no doubt that she would take the award."

"Indeed." Byleth took a sip of their tea but continued to watch him. Hubert knew he was being prompted to elaborate further. 

"Additionally, her current skills are duplicated elsewhere. Linhardt seems content to focus on Faith if it means he can engage with battle as little as possible, and he will excel in it if he manages not to become distracted by whatever his latest interest is. Likewise, Reason is already covered by my own skills." Hubert saw no reason to feign humility in this instance. His abilities were a mere fact that his professor would certainly already be aware of. "Though it is helpful to have more pure magic among our ranks, too much redundancy risks an inability for our class to rise to every situation. Splitting the magic users up into further specializations ensures that we have as many high-level skills as possible at our disposal."

Byleth nodded. Of course they did -- Hubert was quite logical in his reasoning. He could see no flaw in anything he said. Dorothea remained the obvious choice for the Black Eagles representative. 

And yet, still his professor regarded him expectantly. There was something else. There had to be. Why else would they ask him to discuss what was already so obvious? 

Hubert sighed, leaning his chin on his gloved hand. He tried to think back to past lessons, to private sessions he'd observed between Dorothea and the professor. The way that Dorothea laughed with delight the first time she'd cast thunder. It had taken her longer than some of the others to cast her first black magic spell, but when she did, her smile had been so bright that even Hubert found himself praising her efforts. Reason was traditionally the domain of the nobility. How admirable it was that she'd risen to the challenge despite that. 

"I seem to recall," he finally said carefully, "you discussing the Gremory class with Dorothea. Of course, that is a highly advanced class, something that would take years for her to achieve."

"Yes." Byleth did not fidget as they spoke. Every movement they made was deliberate, including the way that they had neatly broken the biscuit up into quarters, one of which they had quietly chewed while Hubert spoke. "Dorothea did not come to the officer's academy only to extend her role as a songstress. She may believe she is only here to attract a husband, and taking on the Dancer class may help her in such endeavors, but she should not comfortably remain in a place where she limits herself so firmly. She has a knack for both Reason and Faith magic, which is rare in any case, but that particular combination is not as common in our class. Were I to ask her to be our Dancer, I believe that she would take that as confirmation that her studies are secondary to her appearance, and she may in turn fail to excel in those areas as well as she might if encouraged to pursue them."

Hubert stared at his professor as they popped another quarter of biscuit into their mouth. Was this really how much thought they put into their students? Not just skills and tactics, but… life goals? Desires, both conscious and unconscious? Did they consider such things for everyone? 

He cautiously took one of the biscuits just to cover up how much he felt taken by surprise. Perhaps he was in for more of a lesson than he had anticipated. "I must admit that I had not considered such factors where Miss Arnault is concerned. So you are convinced, then, that she is not the best choice."

"I am." Byleth lifted the cup to their lips, offering a shrug that on any other might look impassive, but on Byleth said, "and I don't intend to change my mind."

"Well then," Hubert nodded. At least he could see now why Byleth would seek his advice. This choice was no longer as clear as it seemed. "What other candidates are you considering?"

"The next obvious choice is Ferdinand."

There was no stopping the rush of annoyance that always seemed to accompany that name when Hubert heard it. And unfortunately, he was forced to hear it often, given that its bearer seemed to think proper conduct required him to shout it at every interval. "Certainly, you could not name any among our class who seeks the spotlight more fervently, our own songstress included. He would doubtlessly be eager to pursue any goal that guaranteed the entire student body's undivided attention for a length of time."

There was a faint crinkle in the corner of one of Byleth's eyes. A subtle shift in the lines of their face that Hubert had learned could be an expression of amusement. "This is true. He would be pleased if I asked him." 

There was a pause, as Byleth continued to enjoy their tea and Hubert found the experience soured somewhat by the reminder of tea's most ardent consumer. His professor was waiting for more from Hubert, and what was he to say? He tried his best to think of Ferdinand von Aegir as little as possible. 

No, that was the problem. He wished he could think of Ferdinand as little as possible. Instead he was forced to think of him more than any other attendee at Garreg Mach. 

If only he were just another spoiled lord, Hubert could ignore him. Unfortunately, that pompous redhead was the heir of the most powerful noble house in the Adrestian Empire. The son of the very man who now led the country in the Emperor's place. In the months leading up to entering the officers academy, Hubert had done his best to gather intel on all of their classmates, but few had he studied so extensively as Ferdinand. And still, he had not been prepared for the full scale of Ferdinand's personality up close. 

He was both less and more than Hubert expected. Less threatening, less conniving, than he feared. Maddeningly optimistic and eager to please. Yet he was also altogether too much. Too quick to pick up his lessons to be discounted as an imbecile. Too determined to prove his superiority over Lady Edelgard despite Hubert's repeated warnings. Too quick to smile, to laugh, to heap praise upon his classmates. 

Hubert refused to allow his annoyance to get the better of him. This was just another thought experiment, surely. He could endure analyzing even this blight upon his class. He huffed out a sigh. "Of course, he has the formal training necessary to pick up the steps, as any noble would. He has also shown promise in the sword and both forms of magic despite his preference for the lance." 

There would be the matter of the costume, of course. The heavy armor worn by combat units or thick robes favored by magic practitioners would have to be traded in for light silks to accommodate movement. Hubert hastily took a sip of tea, allowing the sharp tinge of cinnamon to burn away the imagined image of Ferdinand in such wrappings. 

"Yes, he would take to the role quite easily," Byleth replied blandly, giving no indication that they noticed the slight heat flushing Hubert's cheeks. 

Again, Hubert found himself wondering what his professor saw that he did not. Surely the Aegir ego was not in need of preserving. Ferdinand might have considered the Dancer class a step down from his ambitions, but if anything Hubert was of the opinion that his ambitions could use some deflation. What did Ferdinand have to offer their class that was not found elsewhere? Lady Edelgard, Petra, and Caspar all excelled at physical weaponry. There was little else to set Ferdinand apart, except--

Except that no other could be reliably found waking with the dawn to skip down to the stables and check on the horses every morning before class. Ferdinand rode for _fun_. He lived and breathed and dreamed of horses. He only wore clothing that could be easily worn in the saddle. 

Their class was not like the Blue Lions or even the Golden Deer, where they were overflowing with knights. The Black Eagles were at a strong disadvantage where cavalry were concerned. 

"He can't do it," Hubert conceded. "We cannot afford to lose our best rider, not unless he somehow conceives of a way to dance atop horseback." Knowing Ferdinand, he might just try it with the slightest provocation. 

Byleth wiped some crumbs away with a napkin. "Perhaps he might teach the horse to learn the steps."

Hubert felt a particular kind of dread that only Ferdinand could inspire. "Please, do not make such a suggestion to him. He is almost certain to try it."

"So you agree that he is not the best choice."

"Unfortunately." Hubert refused to entertain the odd feeling of disappointment lingering behind his relief at not having to see Ferdinand represent the class. Obviously it was mere disappointment at not having resolved this matter. "Who else remains, then?"

"Petra."

Hubert turned the idea over in his mind, relieved to think of someone so pleasantly straightforward rather than infuriating. "Certainly she could take to the role easily enough. Her swordsmanship skills are unmatched among our ranks and would easily be applied to such a position. Though she is not as well versed in magic, she is a quick enough study that it would hardly hold her back. Her speed and dexterity would make her practically untouchable. But..." Hubert sighed. He did not need to wait for Byleth's prompting to see the drawbacks of this choice. He had been watching Petra demonstrate her skill with camouflage with a mixture of respect and envy. How easily she could vanish into the shadows without a trace. How swiftly she could move behind a target with blade at the ready.

"The Dancer is a role that draws attention on even the most chaotic battlefield. It is a unifying class, a role that is meant to operate in the thick of your troop's numbers to bolster them. To shift Petra into this position is to lose her gift of stealth. She is far too valuable as a unit who works on the fringes of the battlefield, quietly eliminating key opponents. There are many in our ranks who could work in the light of day but precious few who can so easily work in shadow."

Hubert knew that his own bias was creeping into this assessment. Working in the shadows was how he himself preferred to operate, particularly with his keen awareness of how many of their enemies did the same. Petra would be a powerful asset no matter what role she chose -- if, of course, she chose to support Edelgard when the time came. But that realm of darkness, of secrecy and trickery, that was Hubert's domain, and he selfishly wanted to hold onto every advantage he could obtain.

Byleth regarded him with that same impenetrable gaze. If they knew Hubert's reasons for being so adamant on this, they did not show it. "So Petra should remain on track to mastering Assassin, then."

"Yes," Hubert drummed his fingers on the table. "Have you not assigned a role to Flayn yet now that she's joined us? She seems eager to participate." In Hubert's mind, there was no reason to put much care into Flayn other than to maintain appearances. Flayn was highly unlikely to remain among their allies once Lady Edelgard's plans were set in motion. Having the young girl in their class might ensure leverage against the church should Rhea move against them too quickly, but otherwise Hubert had little interest in integrating her too fully into the group. Making her the Dancer would be a wasted effort. 

Byleth nodded. "I did make the suggestion to Seteth. He did not seem to appreciate the idea. Something about impressionable young men."

Even Hubert had to wince at the thought of Seteth's reaction. "I take it he does not wish to see his precious sister in such revealing clothing."

"There was quite a lot of shouting," Byleth stated blandly, apparently unruffled by this. "Something about her age. In any case, I do not believe he would allow her to remain in class if I asked her."

Hubert wanted to growl something about Flayn being old enough to be Byleth's great-grandmother, but held his tongue. This seemed as good of an excuse as any to discount what he considered a temporary invasion of their ranks. "That seems quite decisive, then. Let us consider her off the table." Hubert paused to actually consume the biscuit sitting on his plate. This was beginning to look like a significant dilemma. "Caspar hardly bears consideration, of course. Unless the contestants were being judged by volume."

Byleth nodded, evidently choosing to treat his statement as fact rather than a joke. "I notice that you have not yet mentioned Edelgard."

Hubert refrained from his usual biting response to anybody who failed to include the future emperor's title. As long as she remained under their instruction, it was not entirely inappropriate for Byleth to treat Edelgard as just another student, even if he would have preferred a little more deference. "There can be no question that Lady Edelgard would win the cup easily. She has both the skill and the grace to outmatch any others here. Her abilities with Reason magic are also uniquely powerful."

Hubert remembered long hours spent by candlelight as he and Edelgard practiced, and practiced, and practiced again at every spell they thought could give them an edge. Edelgard had even picked up some of the same dark magic that Hubert specialized in. It was a pity that she'd chosen to turn away from magic and concentrate on her axe work, but they both reasoned that they should seek to balance out one another's skills. 

"However," he continued, "it would be an inappropriate role for the future Emperor of the Adrestian Empire. Her place is at the front of the troops, not behind them. The Dancer is a supportive position. And it is ill-matched with her preferred weapon. Though Lady Edelgard is skilled with a sword, her strength with an axe remains an incredible asset."

Byleth nodded, as if Hubert's statements simply confirmed what they already suspected he would say. "There is Bernadetta."

Hubert paused. Bernadetta required a light hand. It was not just that she was easily frightened, but that she too easily beat herself up over every small failing. He was still trying to understand what horrors her family must have inflicted to make her confidence so fragile, but at least Hubert was learning what to avoid with her. Bernadetta hardly had the confidence to be seen by her own classmates, let alone the entire school. "I do not believe being asked to perform in such a public sphere would do Bernadetta any good. Perhaps, if she had more time to gain confidence, she would feel secure enough for such a role, but it would be a cruelty to place her in such a position now, especially with the pressure of the entire class relying on her."

Byleth gave him a long look that made Hubert eventually glance away in search of another biscuit. "What? Is it so surprising that I consider my classmates' wellbeing?"

"No," Byleth said simply. Hubert did not know how to take that, so he ate his biscuit instead.

Byleth reached for the teapot and topped up both of their cups. The scent of cinnamon stirred warmly through the air. "It seems that Linhardt is becoming your choice."

Hubert groaned into his teacup. "If he can be convinced to show up on the day of the competition. And to practice. And to actually... dance when required."

He lowered the cup onto his saucer. No, if he could maintain a level head where Ferdinand was concerned, surely he could do the same for Linhardt. "Linhardt has no interest in joining the fray. He prefers any role that allows him to shun the battle as much as possible. Fortunately for him, his mastery of Physic enables him to do just that. Dancer would enable him to continue to avoid direct engagement, but he would still be required to move further into the midst of the fight if he is to be effective."

"Still," Byleth mused, "if he could be convinced..."

"If he could be convinced," Hubert began, "he would do it, and do it very well, for all of ten minutes, before he grew bored. Healing suits Linhardt well because he is attentive -- and even caring when he can remember to be -- and because every wound he is presented with is a novel problem for him to solve. Even he cannot allow himself to lose focus when he's tasked with keeping somebody from bleeding out, even if his only motivation is to avoid having to see the blood. But a Dancer must be attuned to the overall state of the battlefield at all times. They must make rapid decisions about which of their forces need bolstering and where to urge them to reposition themselves. Linhardt will buck against such responsibility."

"So," Byleth stated lightly, "we have our decision."

"Do we?" Hubert frowned at them. "I cannot say that we do. It seems as though every option comes with significant drawbacks."

"As you say," the professor began, "we need someone who is proficient in magic, yet willing and able to move in the thick of battle. Somebody who is adept at predicting the flow of the battlefield, and can be trusted to make quick decisions about how to affect it." Byleth picked up their cup and took a slow sip before meeting his gaze. "So, how proficient are you at dancing?"

It felt, for a moment, as if the entire room had dropped out from beneath Hubert. Surely this was a prank. All of this effort, the tea, the long conversation, even these biscuits. What a fool he was not to recognize sooner that he was being lured into some horrible joke. He stared at his professor, desperately seeking some hint of amusement, some sign of deceit. "I had considered you above such merriment, Professor."

Byleth stared back at him, in that same distant way they always did. "I am not joking."

"You must be," Hubert persisted, daring to cast a glance at the single tiny window in the professor's room. But even he had to admit that it remained too high and frosted over to be any good for spying through. Unless somebody was very good at staying quiet while squeezed under the low bed, there remained nowhere else for some prankster to eavesdrop on their conversation. Even the door opened to the outdoors, so that if someone were standing outside of it with their ear pressed against the wood at this time of day, Hubert would be able to see their shadow through the tiny crack at the bottom. Still, even if nobody apparent was around to have put his professor up to this, he persisted with his accusation. "You must be joking, else you would be making an incredibly misguided decision, one of a calibre that I would not expect someone of your wisdom to make. Forget all that I said before. You would be better off asking Caspar to do it, if you are going to make such disastrous decisions."

"I am not," Byleth repeated. "I want you to be our Dancer."

"I was under the impression that you wanted to _win_ the White Heron Cup," Hubert said with as much restraint as he could manage.

"Oh?" Byleth looked at him with what must have been pure obliviousness. "Are you under the impression that you would lose?"

"Professor," Hubert disliked the way that the word sounded strained in his throat, like he could barely choke it out. It was one thing for Byleth to know little about politics or religion, but quite another for them to pretend not to recognize what was plainly staring them in the face. "The goal of the contest is to charm the judges, not frighten them. Surely even you must grasp that there are many who would prefer not to look upon a visage such as mine."

Byleth shook their head. "I see no problem. You have danced before, haven't you? Edelgard told me that all nobles have had training."

"I…" Hubert felt like he was on shaky ground, only just beginning to regain his footing before this new betrayal swept him off his feet again. They spoke to Edelgard first. They spoke to Edelgard first, and she agreed to this madness. All he could do was concede and let Byleth take this wherever they had obviously planned to direct it from the start. "Of course I have."

Byleth gave a single decisive nod. "Good. Practice starts tomorrow. You can give me your answer then."

Hubert stared hard at his unfinished tea, growing colder by the minute. "And if I do not agree to this horrible plan?"

Byleth reached for another biscuit, and began to break it up in the same neat way they did before. "Then you can present to me your reasons for choosing someone else."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My only excuse is that Hubert has wound up as the Black Eagles candidate in my game twice in a row now, and so I started thinking about what line of reasoning led him to be chosen, and then I liked the idea too much to put it down. 
> 
> This is my first Fire Emblem fic! Thanks for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed it so far!


	2. Chapter 2

"I think it's a fine idea." Edelgard rounded one of the long tables in the Black Eagles classroom, carrying a stack of tactics textbooks. It was quickly growing dark outside, and every other student had long ago vacated the classrooms, but the pair of them were often found here at this hour by the flickering light of the candles and the dwindling embers of the fireplace. 

At first, tidying the classroom had been an easy excuse for them to meet at night without suspicion. It was a perfectly appropriate activity for the head of the class and her attendant to engage in regularly outside of normal class hours, with obvious evidence of their work that they could point to the next morning if anybody asked where they had been. 

Now, although better awareness of the guard rotations and lesser-used passages gave them plenty of other ways to slip out after dark, habit still found them here day after day. Hubert could not help but notice the pride that Edelgard took in maintaining the Black Eagles classroom, making sure the chairs were straightened and every student had their required materials ready in the morning. It did not matter that their classmates could easily retrieve their books and quills themselves, or that the room would be equally serviceable if the chairs were left slightly askew or that the floor could endure going unswept for a few days. Edelgard wanted the classroom to be perfect for her Eagles, and so Hubert was all too happy to assist her in that.

He automatically held out his arms for her to deposit the books into and began distributing them before each chair on one side of the room while Edelgard began passing out her own stack on the other side. He scowled down at the books in his arms as he sought out the one with the broken binding, which he always deliberately placed in front of Ferdinand's chair. "I did not expect you to share in our professor's folly."

"I see no folly in it." Edelgard was not quite so deliberate in her distribution, placing each of her own books without checking its state. Hubert doubted that any of the other Black Eagles noticed that the left side of the classroom always received the same books each day (the nicest one went to Bernadetta and their state of decay decreased down to Ferdinand's) while the right side was randomized, with each equally likely to receive the one wrinkled with water stains on one corner. Her egalitarian approach meant she always finished sooner than Hubert, and so she was first to move behind the professor's desk to retrieve the quills and ink pots. "I know you know how to dance, Hubert. I have seen you do it many times."

"Respectfully," Hubert grumbled, "our little bedroom waltzes hardly compare to a competition that will determine the composition of our class. You have seen me run before, but you would not ask me to participate in a marathon."

"Nonsense." Edelgard turned to him, a pot of ink in each hand. "That comparison would only be suitable if I had watched you outrun the entirety of our class. You are good at dancing. You have proper stance, you keep time well..."

"Lady Edelgard," Hubert set his final book down and met her eyes directly. "Did you convince the professor to choose me?"

Edelgard's pale eyebrows rose. "You are cross with me. No, I did not. I merely advised them that you would be a good choice. They were already considering you."

"I am not cross with you, I am…" Hubert sighed, and slouched down to rest his gloved hands on the table. "Alright. I am cross. I wish you'd consulted with me before agreeing to this."

Edelgard never cowered from anger -- his, or any other's. It was one of the many traits that made him admire her. Her pale lavender eyes met his fully. "I apologize. I thought it best if you heard directly from our professor first. It is not as though they can force the decision upon you, after all, can they?"

"No," Hubert admitted with a sigh, finally moving to retrieve the quills and ink alongside her. "They merely trapped me in my own logic. Forced me to admit that I can see no better option."

"Well?" She flicked her white hair back out of her eyes as she shot him a sidelong glance. "Is your logic flawed? Is there any other who we should choose instead?"

Hubert had been asking himself that very question since the moment he exited the professor's room. Dare he give up their only cavalry unit? Their only assassin? Could he ignore his own predictions that Linhardt would shirk whatever responsibility the role would demand of him? "I am beginning to question whether we require a Dancer in our ranks at all."

"Well then, I am certain that Claude von Riegan will make good use of it," Edelgard said crisply as she laid out quills. 

Claude von Riegan. Claude von Riegan with somebody under his command who could effectively double the speed of any attacking unit. Hubert could already imagine a number of scenarios that Claude could manifest with such power in his hands, but worse were the ones that he could not imagine. 

"Your attempts to bait me are rather transparent, I'm afraid." Even as he said it, Hubert attempted to shrug off the vision of the future Alliance leader darting out of their peripherals, bow at ready. 

"A pity," Edelgard sighed, moving toward the professor's desk. She always made a point of organizing their notoriously scatterbrained teacher's class materials at the end of the day. "I had hoped I was being subtle. Transparent though I may be, however, do tell me if my plan has worked."

Hubert prided himself on his schemes, on his ability to out-think his opponents. Unfortunately, the fact that he had honed his skill by practicing with his closest friend meant that same friend knew him all too well, and easily turned those same skills back on him. "Of course it has," he conceded, and moved to stand in front of the professor's desk while Edelgard sat down in the chair across from him. "You know I cannot bear the thought of giving such a calculating opponent an edge such as this. Well spotted as ever, Lady Edelgard."

She pulled a stack of Byleth's disorganized notes to herself, a small smile creeping onto her face at her victory. Under normal circumstances, Hubert lived to see that smile soften her carefully-managed features. In this case, it was difficult to take joy in one more sign that his doom was sealed. Nevertheless, she nodded at him. "Alright, then. If our only goal is simply to keep the Dancer class out of anyone else's hands, the solution is simple. We send someone else to compete in the White Heron Cup, but we will not make use of the certification once we have it."

Hubert crossed his arms, considering her suggestion. It was an easy way out. They could send Dorothea or even Ferdinand to compete without interfering with their long-term plans. Edelgard was showing him a kindness by offering an alternative. The fact that he recognized it for a kindness made loathing for himself churn in the pit of his stomach. For her to settle on a lesser choice simply for his sake was intolerable. "An elegant solution, but a wasteful one. I doubt you would be satisfied with such a plan."

Edelgard sighed. "Of course I wouldn't be. I think a Dancer would be of great benefit to us, and I think you would be an ideal choice." 

Hubert shook his head, leaning down to press both hands against the front of the desk. "I simply fail to understand why."

"It is just as you and the professor said. The Dancer must be able to anticipate the movements of the battlefield and turn it to their advantage. When I am at the front of the line, I want someone who knows my tactics and my plans, who can predict exactly what choices I will make, to be at my back setting the stage. It's true that anyone in our class could do the job adequately, but only you could use such a position to seamlessly carry out my plans." Edelgard leaned across the desk, her hand closing around Hubert's wrist, her pale eyes meeting his fiercely. "I would never order you down a path that you found intolerable, Hubert. If this is truly unbearable for you, then we will find another solution. I just wish you could see how much I think you would shine in such a role."

She truly had so much faith in him. Not just to be a Dancer, but to be _her_ Dancer. Someone who could help her achieve her lofty goals. Maybe, if he actually could succeed in winning the certification… 

Hubert's hand went to his head, pushing his black hair out of his eyes. "This is foolishness. It is not a test of skill, but of charm. You know that I could manage to hit every step perfectly and the judges will still favor whoever has the most attractive smile."

Edelgard's eyes glinted confidently. "And is that such a bad thing? You know as well as I that charm is a matter of manipulating perceptions." She leaned forward, using her grip on Hubert's arm to pull herself across the desk. At her height, Edelgard practically had to lay across the expanse of the wood surface to lean close to him, but she somehow managed it. "Hubert," she said lowly so none passing by the open door could hear, "when we constructed the Flame Emperor together, remember what you said? That we must create an image that strikes awe into the hearts of all who see him. It will not be you dancing out there. It will be the image we create for you. So let us create that image. Will you permit that?"

An image. A persona, like the Flame Emperor. Hubert could not imagine himself standing before the entire school, hoping to convince them of his appeal with a charisma he did not possess. But thinking of it as simply another mask…

His other hand closed over hers. "If you are behind me, I can try."

***

The evening was still early when he found his way to the ground-level dorms. Light glowed warmly from the open doors and windows of the cafeteria, chatter and laughter filtering down the stone staircase. It was a crisp fall evening, not yet cold enough to keep the students from lingering around the fishing pond or drifting slowly toward their dorms while carrying on their dinner conversations, trying to delay the night of studying ahead. It would not be, therefore, considered terribly untoward for Hubert to be standing outside of Dorothea's chambers at this time. He took a moment to steel himself before knocking sharply on her door. 

He highly doubted that he was remotely within the sphere of people who Dorothea hoped would be standing on the other side of her door, yet her smile was dazzling anyway. The songstress knew how to perform even in the most mundane of venues. "Hubie! It's not like you to make social calls. Are you here to scold me for forgetting to use Edie's title again? Or is this about that saucy joke I made yesterday? Was that too much for her delicate royal ears to hear?"

Hubert stifled a sigh, already regretting this conversation. Dorothea's personality was entirely too much for him to face directly like this. Her irreverence around Lady Edelgard had been a point of contention in their first few weeks at the academy, but Edelgard herself enjoyed Dorothea's brash attitude and had told him to let it go. Truth be told, Hubert also took a certain amount of pleasure in watching a commoner breezily ignore social mores the way that Dorothea did, pointedly affixing his fellow nobles with all-too-personal nicknames rather than a deferential title. But it was a spectacle that he preferred to appreciate at a distance, without the full force of the songstress's energy and wit directed at him.

"Nothing so serious as that, I assure you." Hubert stiffly folded his hands behind his back, sifting through his mental notes to recall exactly how he had rehearsed this conversation. Unfortunately Dorothea's chaotic nature had already derailed his plans, leaving him to leaf frantically through his script to work out what to say next. The sound of laughter echoing across the square made him uncomfortably aware of the other students and monastery residents moving around behind him. "I thought perhaps that you should hear it first. The professor has chosen our candidate for the White Heron Cup."

He saw her smile falter a bit, and knew that she was doing the math. If Byleth had chosen her, then surely Byleth would be the one to deliver the news. Still, her voice remained as bright as ever. "Really? That's great news! Who is it?" 

Hubert could not stand to look at that fading smile anymore, and his eyes found a particularly fascinating crack in the wall by her door. "You should know that this was not at all an easy choice. It was less a matter of who could succeed in the competition than of who we could afford to remove from another role. The composition of our class is..."

"Hubie," all warmth had drained from her voice now, replaced with a dangerous edge. "If you've come all this way just to soothe my feelings over Ferdie being chosen over me, you can just get it over with."

The very suggestion that Hubert would ever choose Ferdinand von Aegir shocked him into looking at her again. "We need Ferdinand on his horse, loathe as I am to admit that. Just as we need you continuing to study both Reason and Faith, a combination that we otherwise lack." He shifted awkwardly, resisting the urge to either fidget or flee. "I have been over the class roster many times, and unfortunately I see no other way around it. The professor is of the opinion that the only one who can be spared for this role is myself."

A single laugh burst out of Dorothea's mouth before she covered it with both hands. "Oh Hubie! Oh I'm sorry, it's not funny. It's just unexpected."

"I am quite aware of how unexpected it is," Hubert muttered, once again taking tremendous interest in the details of the wall beside her. "Which is precisely why I must request your assistance. There can be no doubt that you are our most gifted dancer. Moreover, you have experience with performing before an audience. I wish to ask for your help in preparing for this competition."

Dorothea stared up at him, cautious skepticism on her face. She did not trust nobles, and he shared in her loathing. Hubert himself nearly forgot sometimes that he would be considered one of them in her eyes. Dorothea may have acted cheerful around her classmates, but Hubert had seen the way she sometimes seemed to be bracing for them to turn on her. She looked like she was bracing for that now. "I'm sorry, did you say you need my help? You, Hubie, need my help."

"That is what I said, yes."

Dorothea snorted. "I'm surprised you aren't asking Ferdie, since he seems so very convinced of his superiority in every realm, including dance."

"I do not entertain that one's foolish ramblings." Hubert smirked as he said it, and was pleased that a smile crept back onto Dorothea's own face. She made clear her feelings on Ferdinand -- loudly, and as often as possible -- and it seemed that he won an ally in her on this front. "As much as it pains me to admit my own failings, I know that you are much more practiced in this arena than myself. If you are willing to assist me in this, I would be grateful."

She granted him that warm smile that she shared so freely with her classmates. "Well with a request like that, how can I refuse? Alright, Hubie. How about we meet on the training grounds tonight?"

Hubert felt his heart rate spike just at the thought of being caught practicing in such a public area. The training grounds were less crowded in the evenings, but there were many students who remained there even late into the night. There would be no hope of privacy in such a place. "Actually, I have somewhere more private in mind, if you'll allow. I'll meet you here at your room after class tomorrow and show you the way."

Her smile twisted itself into a sly grin. "Why Hubie, if you wanted to get me alone, a simple dinner invitation would have sufficed."

Now he did sigh. Truly, she was relentless. "I assure you, I have no such intentions. But if this is your way of requesting an exchange for your services, I will see what I can do about a meal."

"No fun at all," Dorothea sighed back, though he could see that she was still teasing him rather than truly disappointed. "Forget it, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

Dorothea closed the door, leaving Hubert standing awkwardly outside. He had the rest of the night ahead of him to fret over what awaited him at Dorothea's lessons.

***

Hubert had never before dreaded class. In fact, against all reason, he even sometimes enjoyed it. 

That had been an unexpected development. That Hubert would accompany Edelgard to Garreg Mach, the very seat of the Church of Seiros, that he would attend classes alongside the frivolous sons and daughters of nobility, that he would sit in front of some church-approved professor and listen to their tiresome lectures… and he would not hate it. Sometimes he even learned something. Sometimes he even forgot that he was here under false pretenses, that he was only _pretending_ to be a student in order to further Edelgard's aims. 

But class had never before felt like such a trap. Never had he so cursed Edelgard's preference for sitting in the very front row, as well as his own decision to accompany her there. Hubert felt that every single pair of eyes in the room must have been on the back of his head. Surely such a thought was irrational, since only Edelgard and Dorothea yet had reason to suspect his distraction when he failed to turn his tactics textbook to the correct page. 

Worse, their distractible professor left Hubert to suffer in silence through the entire lecture, carrying on as though his humiliation was not imminent. It was only when Byleth was about to dismiss them for lunch, threatening to draw out the torture even further, that Edelgard came to his rescue. "Professor, I believe you had intended to make an announcement."

Byleth paused, blinking at Edelgard in that dreamy way they always did when they forgot vital information, such as their own plans. "Oh, yes. We've chosen our candidate for the White Heron Cup."

A general murmur of excitement rippled through the classroom. Hubert pointedly closed his book and began organizing his things, trying very hard to ignore the chatter behind him.

"You were wanting to be choosing, weren't you Ferdinand?"

"I assure you, I know nothing about the professor's choice. If they have selected me, this is the first I am hearing of it."

"It's not me, right? You wouldn't pick me just to make fun of me, would you? Oh no! You have, haven't you? Aaaaaaah I don't want to do iiiiiiiiit!"

"Finally!" Caspar's voice rang out over Bernadetta's cries. "Who'd you pick, professor? We've got so many good dancers here, I bet we'll win no matter what!"

Byleth did not waste time on drawing out the suspense with theatrics. "I've chosen Hubert."

The din faded to uneasy silence. Of all the times that Edelgard had urged the Black Eagles to learn the art of being quiet, somehow this was the moment in which the lesson finally took. 

"I don't think he's a bad choice at all." Dorothea jumped in to helpfully damn Hubert with faint praise. 

"Indeed, if the strategy is to frighten the judges into choosing our house, you could not ask for a better candidate." Linhardt, naturally, chose to wake up from his nap exclusively for the purpose of contributing this jab. 

Having run out of anything left to do with his own class materials, Hubert moved on to straightening Edelgard's notes for her. Might as well let his classmates get this out of their system so they could hopefully never speak of this again.

"Hubert's not going to assassinate the judges, is he? Noooo I can't be an accessory to murder!"

"Bernie, nobody's going to assassinate anyone."

"Is this being a contest of violence? I thought it was of dance."

"No, there's no violence. Bernie's just being dramatic."

"Imagine if it was though? Like what if we had to fistfight Alois to win? That would be awesome!"

"But I don't want to fistfight Alois!"

"Bernie, absolutely nobody is asking you to fistfight Alois."

"Well I trust in our professor's decisions." A single voice boomed above all the others. Caspar may have existed in a perpetual state of yelling, but Ferdinand von Aegir projected his voice at all times as though he was in the midst of orating to a crowd. "I am certain that they have good reason to choose Hubert to represent the Black Eagles house, and we should be proud to support him. Why, regardless of whether or not he's had training, with a few weeks, he should--"

"I have, actually." Hubert was already out of his chair and turning to face Ferdinand before his nerves had a chance to catch up with him. The ginger with his all-too-bright smile was staring at Hubert, startled at being interrupted mid-speech. "Which is something you might already know if you ever deigned to dance with those you consider beneath your status, Ferdinand."

Ferdinand's mouth hung agape, his ears turning a satisfying shade of scarlet. "What is that supposed to--"

"Alright!" Edelgard stood, inserting herself between them as she stepped into the center of the classroom. "Honestly, is this any way to behave before a competition? We are supposed to present a united front before the other houses. I expect all of you to give Hubert your full support, just as you would any one of us."

Hubert made a point of avoiding any further eye contact as he exited the classroom. With resounding support such as this from his own class, did he even need rivals to compete with? Perhaps they might send one of Bernadetta's plush toys to compete and save him the trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

"No, no, no." Dorothea dropped the spoon that she'd been using to tap out a steady rhythm on the side of an overturned crate, letting it clatter onto the sun-bleached wood. "Are you dancing, or are you attempting to recite chapter five of our tactics textbook to Professor Byleth?"

Hubert dropped his stance to fold his arms together. Twenty-five minutes into their dance lesson, and he already felt sweaty and overly warm in his uniform. The afternoon sun beat down on them despite the mid-autumn season, making him regret his preference for black. His long hair was already starting to stick to his cheek on one side, and he was pretending not to notice this. "I do not understand the question."

Dorothea advanced on him across the small room. Well… "room" was a generous term for the location of their private lesson. Hubert had spent weeks sniffing out the more abandoned corners of Garreg Mach when they first arrived at school. The monastery grounds were a maze of ruins, both above ground and below, and many of the abandoned locations appeared to never be included on the guards' regular rounds. Of course, he had always imagined that when he utilized such hidden spaces, it would be for much more nefarious purposes than practicing for a dance competition.

The size and dimensions of this particular building were reminiscent of the knights' hall, but whatever use it had seen in centuries past was long since lost. The wood roof had long ago rotted and caved in, and no door remained in the doorframe. But the tile floor, once cleared of debris, made for a smooth enough surface to dance on without risk of tripping, despite weeds pushing up between a few of the cracks, and the brick walls offered some amount of privacy while they practiced. The open door faced away from the monastery, and the path here was overgrown enough to dissuade anyone from choosing to wander in this direction, so he could be confident that none would be nearby to witness his humiliation. In essence, they had their own private courtyard in which to stage their lessons. 

Dorothea took him by the shoulders and gave him a shake, even though she had to reach up to do so. "You're too stiff! You look like a waiter in one of those fancy Enbarr restaurants where they fold the napkins to look like doves."

Strictly speaking, Hubert had hardly visited any restaurant, in Enbarr or anywhere else. Restaurants existed for those who were socializing or traveling, or who did not already dine in the actual Adrestian Palace, served by the royal family's own chefs. But he had a vague impression of what she was describing. "And I am to understand that that is a bad thing."

Dorothea's hands flew to her head in a dramatic fashion. "Yes! The point of dancing is movement! You cannot move and be rigid as stone at the same time. The scowling doesn't help, either."

Hubert felt himself flush. "I was merely concentrating."

Dorothea pursed her lips sympathetically, but her voice retained some of its impatient edge. "Concentration is important, but you'll need to learn not to let that show on your face. The judges want to see a smile. Can you do that, Hubie? Do you know how to smile?"

With some effort, Hubert conjured the most pleasant smile his face could allow. 

Dorothea visibly recoiled, her hands leaving Hubert's shoulders so she could step back. "Never mind. You look like you intend to flay me alive. Don't smile like that at the judges, alright?"

Hubert tried to ignore the sting that her comment induced. "I was not intending to be sinister." Not at this exact moment, anyway.

"I've never met someone who could be threatening by accident, but somehow you manage it." Dorothea threw herself back onto her seat and took up her spoon again. "Fine! Let's start from the top!" With that, she began drumming out a beat for him. With a groan, he went back to it.

It surprised Hubert how quickly the dance came back to him. He had not even thought about waltzing for years, let alone put it into practice. His feet still remembered the steps, his shoulders still remembered how to set themselves as though preparing to cradle another in his arms. The basic mechanics of it were really quite straightforward.

And yet he could feel Dorothea's eyes on him, evaluating his every movement. The steady drumming of her spoon on the crate provided a simple enough beat for him to keep time to, but it was a grating sound, one that reminded him with every strike that he was not simply one dancer among a crowd. He was alone on an empty floor, foolishly dancing along to cutlery. Could the entire school hear the noise? Would a face appear in that open doorway any moment? He felt horribly foolish and woefully exposed.

"Augh, just stop!" Dorothea suddenly snapped, the spoon slamming down on the crate. "Honestly, could you look any more miserable? You act like you don't even want to be here." 

Hubert bent over to catch his breath, hands on his thighs. There was a reason that he devoted most of his energy toward magic, something that allowed him to stand perfectly still while still fighting with deadly force. "This may come as some shock, but no part of this experience delights me. I am here for my duty, nothing else."

"Really? You think I love being here, pretending to be happy about you getting chosen over me?" Something in Dorothea's voice broke. Hubert tilted his head up to look at her through the sweaty bangs hanging in his face, and realized that she was on her feet, hands clenched at her sides. 

He stood upright, hands still clutching at the stitch in his side. Hellfire, was he out of shape. "Is that what you think this situation is?"

Dorothea snorted. "At least have the decency to be honest with me. You and Edie just couldn't have your class represented by a commoner, could you?"

Hubert would have laughed, if he had the breath for it. Instead he merely stared at her in confusion. "Where in Cichol's cursed name did you get that idea?"

"Come on, Hubie. We both know I'm the best dancer in our class. And you come to me with the flimsiest of excuses for why I wasn't chosen? That you need me to concentrate on learning magic? Dancing is a magic class! There is no reason I couldn't do both." Furious tears were pooling in her eyes, threatening to spill. "I'm not an idiot, Hubie. I know there are plenty of people who think I don't deserve to be here. And maybe that would be enough to sully our house's reputation, having someone like me represent us. I just thought you and Edie were above that sort of thing."

Hubert tried to work out where exactly this situation had gone horribly wrong and saw that he'd mishandled it from the start. He should have seen how this would look to her. He straightened his jacket and laced his hands behind his back, feeling that he owed her at least some proper manners. "On the contrary, the thought of watching you outmatch those pitiful nobles and inflict upon them the shame of failure that they have too rarely encountered in their wretched lives fills me with a joy that I rarely know. Yes, you are in every sense the ideal candidate for this competition, and the Black Eagles would be proud to have you represent us. Not _despite_ your origins. Your unique experience is exactly what makes you so adept at what you do. You know what it is to hone your skill for professional use, not as some parlor trick. It was not I who argued against your candidacy, nor was it Lady Edelgard. It was the professor's preference."

Dorothea processed this quietly, her green eyes fixed on something behind him, her arms crossed defensively. "I really thought they believed in me more than that."

"They do," Hubert said flatly, not wishing to obscure the message with what might seem to be insincere reassurance. "Enough to ensure that you do not deviate from your aspirations. Dorothea, why exactly did you come to the officer's academy? Gaining admission while working full time as a Songstress could not have been an easy task."

Dorothea sniffled, giving a dismissive shrug. "Oh, you know. A school filled with Fodlan's wealthiest young noble bachelors? How could I pass up an opportunity like that?"

Hubert rested his chin on his palm, letting his gaze drift to the tall, sun-dappled grass outside the door. "If that is your goal, then it's certainly not the worst plan for going about it. In fact, I would call it downright shrewd. But of course, the fact that you would also be learning skills here that could be used in any number of positions in the future must have crossed your mind. A backup plan, as it were."

Dorothea snorted, though it came out more as a sniffle. "I mean, what gal wouldn't want to learn how to strike a guy with lightning whenever he gets a bit handsy?"

"Indeed, but you could have learned that in Enbarr. There are other schools, easier schools to access." Dorothea said nothing, impulsively reaching to fix her long hair, as if it were ever anything less than perfectly coiled about her shoulders. Hubert persisted. "I have read your application."

Her gaze snapped back to him, wide-eyed. "But that's--"

"Highly confidential, of course. I don't trust just anyone to have such free access to Lady Edelgard. I need to know just who is sitting behind her chair every day." It had not, in fact, been a remotely easy task to gain access to the academy's records. Hubert was still trying to puzzle out where the bishops hid their archives. Fortunately, Professor Byleth was not quite so paranoid about the files they were given, and so he had managed to leaf through the documentation on the Black Eagles. Would that the other two professors could give him such ready access to their own classes.

"It's also very rude," Dorothea muttered. 

"I do not tend to concern myself with what is polite." Hubert felt a faint smirk tug at his lips. "Quite an impressive application, actually. Your test scores were average, but your essays were most engaging. You have a practicality that many others lack. You do not allow the big picture, as it were, to blind you to facts. You have valuable insights that our class needs."

Dorothea flushed, looking away from him. For someone who seemed to thrive on attention, she did not seem to know what to do with this sort of praise. She sighed impatiently. "Is there a point to all of this, or are you just heaping compliments on me so I'll drop it?"

"My point, Dorothea, is that you did not come to the officer's academy just to be a Songstress by a different name. The professor fears that making you a Dancer would send a signal that you are valued only for your appearance. That it would lead you to limit yourself. Frankly, I would be inclined to disagree, had I not seen you in action."

"They said that?" Her voice hitched a bit when she said it. 

"That is what they told me. That they want to see you succeed as a gremory, a class that very few ever manage to achieve. Though I do not agree with our professor on every front, their instincts on our class composition have been largely accurate. Do not think I haven't noticed you studying the chapter on Meteor, a spell so complex that I doubt even Linhardt would be bothered to learn it."

She gave him a startled glance, but did not deny it.

Hubert nodded to her. "So I ask you again: why did you come to the officer's academy? If you are happy remaining as a Songstress, if you would be satisfied only to become a Dancer and nothing else, then I will gladly end this farce and accompany you to persuade Professor Byleth to change their mind. But if you came here to prove something, as I suspect you did, then I would be remiss to allow you to make such a sacrifice."

Her eyebrows arched disbelievingly. "Hubie, that almost sounded generous of you."

He chuckled. "Lest you mistake my actions for kindness, allow me to remind you that I seek only to ensure that Lady Edelgard's people are maximizing their potential."

"Right, of course. You could not possibly be trying to help your friends achieve their dreams the way you're always talking about helping Edie with hers." She was smiling now, even as she wiped at the corner of her eye with her sleeve. "To answer your question, I... I don't know if I have just one answer for you. But I do know that I have been around simpering nobles my whole life. And I would give just about anything for the chance to wipe the smile off their faces. And beating them at their own game? Learning the spells that all their fancy tutors and expensive libraries couldn't teach them? I'd like that very much."

Hubert smirked in triumph, and offered her a low bow. A proper bow, the likes of which he normally reserved only for Edelgard. "Then, Miss Arnault, I suggest a trade. I will help you reach your goal if you help me reach mine. Teach me to survive this blasted competition and I promise that all I know of magic is at your disposal."

Dorothea laughed. "Okay, okay, no need to turn this into the opening of an epic drama. Though... hmm. I think I have an idea of how we're going to present you now. You are actually quite charming in your own way, Hubie. There's no reason to try to cover it up with a fake smile."

Now it was Hubert's turn for skepticism. "Somehow I doubt there is much charm for you to find."

Dorothea waved him off. "Oh hush, you'll see what I mean soon enough. Anyway, we're focusing on your stance right now. Here, take my hand." She stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder and held out the other for him to hold.

He surveyed her in confusion. "Does the contest not require each contestant to be performing alone?"

Dorothea huffed. "Yes, despite the waltz being a couple's dance. It's a silly requirement, really. But right now you're letting your nerves get in the way of your movement. You need to stop being so embarrassed about me watching you. So let's take out the audience factor entirely. There is nobody left to watch if we're both participating, right?"

Hubert sighed as his gloved hand took hers, the other resting lightly on her waist. "Perceptive, as ever."

She grinned up at him. "That's why I'm your teacher. Now, you lead. Teach me to waltz as though it's my first time. I'm a lowly commoner who's never been allowed to join in on such a high class dance before."

Hubert chuckled at her, pulling them into a slow, steady rhythm. Dorothea followed smoothly, exposing her lie for what it was. "Does that work on the brainless nobles you seduce? Pretending to be clueless?"

"Some of them." She smirked, unapologetic. It was harder to match each other's steps without music, but Dorothea was a professional. She adjusted to Hubert's pace, reading his body language well enough to anticipate his steps. "Good. Loosen your grip on my hand a bit. You're directing me, not pulling me like a dog on a leash."

"Quite the analogy."

Her head quirked in an approximation of a shrug. "You'd be surprised how necessary that comparison is. Far too many noblemen can't tell the difference."

"Not as surprised as you might think." He complied with her instruction, letting her hand simply rest in his rather than gripping it.

"Better, but you're still too rigid. You're worrying too much about what I'm doing. Dancing with someone is about trust. Which I know is in short supply with you."

"What gave you that impression?" Hubert tried not to stare down at her feet, certain that he was about to tread on her toes. 

"I can't believe I have to tell you this, but my eyes are up here." She laughed at his startled look. "Trust, Hubie! You need to trust me that I know how to keep up with you. And you need to trust yourself. You know these steps, right?"

Hubert studiously kept his eyes on hers, realized his hand had tightened around hers again, and pointedly loosened it. "Knowing and doing are not the same."

Dorothea sighed. "Alright, stop. New plan. I'm cashing in that magic lesson right now."

Hubert let his hands fall away from hers as she stepped back, and tried very hard to keep pace with Dorothea's shifting moods. "I did not realize you were in such a hurry to learn."

"I am now. The wall makes a good enough target, right?" She moved to stand beside him so that they both faced the same direction, with only a wall of bare brickwork ahead of them. "So? What's the most basic Dark magic you know? What's the spell you can cast in your sleep?"

Hubert regarded her. "You are aware that Dark magic and Black magic are quite different, I'm sure. Black magic utilizes the elements, while Dark magic draws on something more internal and primal."

Dorothea sighed impatiently. "I have read chapter one of the textbook, yes, thank you Hubert. Show me anyway."

Hubert puffed out a breath. At least this would be a respite from his stumbling around. "Alright. The simplest Dark attack is Miasma Δ. It goes like this." It was easy. So easy to gather the dark magic in his chest. To draw his hand across his body as he muttered the incantation, feeling the cold sting of power spreading its tendrils down the length of his arm. To flick his fingers outward just as the magic reached them, casually lobbing a sphere of crackling darkness at the bare wall. The impact resonated with the magic's hollow sound, leaving a blackened scorch mark on the bricks. How strange that trying to dance had felt like wading through waist-deep mud, but casting this spell felt like stepping back onto dry land, as light and easy as walking on a summer day.

"Hmm." Dorothea experimentally moved her hand across her chest. "Like this?" 

"Palm inward. Arm parallel with the floor." He reached over and tilted her elbow up a few degrees. "You want to draw the magic in toward your hand before you expel it. If you allow your arm to droop, you risk casting at the floor rather than at your target."

Dorothea imitated his movements, right down to a small flourish in her wrist that, strictly speaking, was not a necessary addition to the spell, but that Hubert habitually added on principle. "And your feet? Do you step forward with your right or your left?"

"Always lead with your casting side."

"Right. Of course." She practiced the motions again. Hand across the chest, elbow out, step forward, flick of the wrist. Again and again she repeated the steps, imitating him perfectly without the actual orb of magical darkness firing from her hand. And then she tried it again using the other hand. 

"Dorothea, what are you doing?"

Dorothea flicked one hand in front of herself and then another. "What's it look like?"

Hubert crossed his arms. "It looks like you are being very smug."

She grinned, but did not stop her impromptu dance routine, working in much more hip sway than the original spell called for. "Don't I have a right to be? I'm finding all your secrets, Hubie."

He could not help the amused smirk that crossed his face. "I very much doubt that." 

"Well I've found one, anyway. You _are_ a good dancer when you're not getting in the way of yourself. We just have to draw it out of you. What is spellcasting other than a very precise dance routine with a purpose?" She did a careless twirl, her hair fanning out around her. It looked so effortless. 

"Ah yes, deadly magical force is naught but prancing about." Hubert watched as Dorothea spun the movements he had taught her into an intricate routine that grew with each new iteration. Here he was, betrayed by his own lesson. 

She came to a standstill, grinning in triumph. Whereas Hubert felt bedraggled and exhausted by dance, she looked invigorated, her peach skin glistening radiantly. "From now on, we'll warm up our sessions with a magic lesson. It's something you're already confident in, so it'll get you into the mindset you need. Come on now, let's get back to it. We've got lots of time yet before the sun goes down."

Hubert groaned, casting his eyes up at the treacherously clear blue sky, still shining bright with the low evening sun. If only he believed in the Goddess, he might be tempted to beg her to nudge it towards the horizon just a bit faster.


End file.
